


Bleeding Hearts

by silentstreets



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (i think), Angst, Aromantic Natasha Romanov, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Natasha Romanov, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Clint is gay only for bruce, Coming Out, Dirty Talk, Domestic Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Fluff and Angst, Gay Bruce Banner, Gay Steve Rogers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Bruce Banner/Clint Barton, Minor Character Death, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Panic Attacks, Pansexual Tony Stark, Period-Typical Homophobia, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Natasha Romanov, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Social Media, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Thor is the life and soul of the party, everyone needs a hug!!!!!, hashtag confirmed, i will add to this as i go cool cool, not entirely film compliant i made some stuff up, tw for brief mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7183730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentstreets/pseuds/silentstreets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some time around Captain America: Civil War. Lots of angst and a little (a lot of) fluff. Bucky and Steve are so close that Tony and Clint already think they're fucking (which they're not. Yet). Social media and press conferences are involved, as well as pushy journalists who drive Bucky up the wall. Nat is everyone's protective Mom. As a side note, if you squint, Clint and Bruce seem to be screwing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take him and cut him out in little stars,  
> And he will make the face of heaven so fine  
> That all the world will be in love with night.

When the front door to Steve’s apartment at Stark Tower bursts open at half past three in the morning, Steve isn’t really even surprised to see a very drunk Bucky leaning heavily on Natasha’s shoulder.

“Look after him Rogers, he’s your roomie. Don’t need him spewing on my floor,” Natasha tells him, heaving Bucky onto the couch with a grunt.

Steve, who was at the sink pouring himself a glass of water, looks up at this. “Is he gonna puke?” He turns to his best friend. “Are you gonna puke, Bucky? Please don’t puke onto my floor.”

“Have fun Cap,” Nat says, turning to go. “And, by the way, nice pants.”

It’s then that Steve realises he’s wearing nothing but the boxers he sleeps in. But Natasha’s already gone, the door snicked shut behind her, and Bucky is very much unconscious in his couch, so he doesn’t even bother with getting embarrassed. He puts his cup in the sink, hoping to jar Bucky out of his apparent coma with the clang of glass on metal. Bucky doesn’t even shift. Completely dead to the world. In fact, he doesn’t even open his eyes until Steve wraps his hands around his wrists and tries to lift him. Sloppily, Bucky raises his fist and waves it around, trying to defend himself.

“Woah there drunky, let’s not knock anyone out now. C’mon, up you get. Wanna go back to bed.”

“Steve? Stevie? Did you have a good night?” Bucky slurs drunkly, stumbling after Steve into the bedroom, staying upright only because Steve’s basically carrying him.

“Mhmm, get into bed,” he replies, shoving him gently.

Bucky collapses and curls up on the far side of the bed, where he likes it, because he’s got the wall on one side and Steve on the other. Belatedly realising Bucky still has his shoes on, Steve climbs over him and unlaces his heavy boots, not bothering with being gentle, because Bucky is out cold. Nothing will wake him now. He tosses the boots over the side of the bed and gets under the covers, trying to yank some of the blanket back from Bucky.

But Bucky turns to him with a shy smile on his face and whispers “wanna fuck you raw,” then closes his eyes and snuggles into Steve’s chest.

Steve wraps his arms around him automatically, trying to calm his pounding heart by thinking of unsexy things like wet socks and the way Sam slurps his coffee which, by the way, is the most annoying thing ever. He wants to question Bucky, ask if he really means it, but he knows that he’s deadass drunk and unconscious. Nothing more than a drunken blunder. In fact, he’s not even entirely sure that Bucky even realises who he’s in bed with. He probably thinks it’s a girl he picked up at… wherever it was he went.

Tony had offered Bucky his own apartment when he’d first arrived at Stark Tower, but he said he was happy to share with Steve. Even refused the offer of an extra bed. He had a look of nervous terror in his eyes that confirmed to everyone else that it was better to not question their sleeping arrangements. Because the truth is, they’ve been sleeping in the same bed since they were teenagers. First because winters were cold and they couldn’t always afford heating, then because Steve was sick and Bucky wanted to stay with him to make sure he didn’t cark it halfway through the night. Then it was the war, and they shared a bed because nothing seemed to ward off the nightmares as well as the presence of the other man. And then it had been seventy years and they were sharing a bed because they couldn’t remember it being any other way.

Steve’s chest feels tight in a way it hasn’t in over seven decades, back when he was scrawny and small and asthmatic. But this tightness is different. The struggle to breath is not because of constricting airways, but because of how much he wants to tell Bucky how he feels.

The thing is, Steve always suspected the way he loved Bucky was different to the way Bucky loved him. But he’d always done his best to suppress whatever it was he was feeling. He’d been told by the nuns at Sunday school that homosexuality was a sin and a disease. He’d heard boys on the street spit _queerie_ and _fairy_ at each other when they fought as if it were a filthy, dirty thing to be. Even his own much beloved ma had mentioned what a tragedy it was to be born gay. So Steve had grown up trying to quell his feelings, convinced that they were somehow wrong and immoral and disgusting. Had grown up thinking these things about himself. Still remembers that days where he’d wished his life could just end, but didn’t do anything about it because then who would look after his ma? Who would be there to keep Bucky from getting himself killed every time someone disagreed with him? There was a time where Steve would get himself into fights he couldn’t win on purpose. Relished the pain, because he honest to god believed he deserved it. Deserved to be punished for his sin of being in love with another man. Went out every night with Bucky, doing unspeakable things with so many different dames he’d lost count at some point, hoping to clog up the hole in his soul that he thought could only be filled by Bucky. It made him feel dirty, using all these girls for his own benefit. Because as he came, Steve always pictured Bucky. Every. Single. Time.

When the offer of the serum arose, with the promise to solve all his ailments, the first thing Steve wondered was whether it could finally fix him. Make him normal. Want pretty girls with soft curves and pretty hair, instead of Bucky with his solid chest and scruffy stubble and chapped lips. But. Would he still love Bucky then, if the serum really did fix him? Was the love he felt for Bucky the type that would stay once he stopped wanting to kiss his stupid mouth? The conflict circled in Steve’s mind in a whirlwind of anxiety _yes but no but yes_. Still, there was the promise of being a hero, of saving the world from Hitler and the Nazis. Of never needing his inhaler again, goddammit it. So he had gone along with the proposal, and emerged from the coffin-like container feeling bigger and stronger and healthier than ever. And honestly believed that he was cured, because there was Peggy, beautiful, strong, clever Peggy and Steve really thought that he was in love with her. But then he saw Bucky for the very first time since the procedure, and something seemed to click in his mind.

This - his feelings - they were not a disease. Everything he had ever heard about queers being dirty and immoral and bad. It was all false. If the magical serum that fixed his lungs hadn’t changed this, then was it something that really needed to be changed? With this realisation, that he was not in need of fixing, a weight he hadn’t realised he’d been carrying lifted off his shoulders.

He’d once read somewhere that if you fall of a cliff you can die before you hit the ground, because the shock of seeing the ground hurtling towards you can stop your heart, stop the blood that’s keeping you alive pumping through your veins. That your body just shuts down. Steve was falling for Bucky all over again, but he didn’t find it daunting at all. Because it finally made sense to him. He has always loved Bucky.

Bucky noticed the change is his demeanour, clapped him on the back (he had to reach up to do that now) and said “buddy I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you not slouch in my life.” 

  
And Steve agreed that “yeah, that serum really worked wonders,” but he didn’t tell Bucky the reason that he’s finally comfortable in his own skin is because he’s realised that he is not some sick, diseased, foul being, but a man who is worthy of his own acceptance.

It’s a long, long time before Steve tells anyone about his orientation, and this is mainly because Natasha calls his bluff. She corners him in the kitchen one morning (they both get up earlier than the others) and just says “you’re in loves with Barnes.”

It’s not a question, but Steve nods anyway, flushing from his neck to his hairline. He’s reminded, momentarily, of the time he’d seen two men corner a third in an alleyway and beat him to a pulp, all the while reminding him that he was a failure of the human race because “little fairy likes it up the ass, doesn’t he?” He doesn’t know, not really, what he expects Natasha to do, but her response takes him by surprise.

She moves away to pour herself a cup of coffee, asking conversationally, “are you gonna tell him?”

Steve shakes his head furiously, and Nat looks at him with unconcealed surprise, and maybe a little sympathy.

“There’s nothing wrong with liking guys, you know. This isn’t the 1940s. Plenty of people are gay, you don’t need to be ashamed.” 

“I’m. He… I just… it’s… I’m not ashamed.”

She looks at him like she doesn’t believe him entirely, but doesn’t push. Steve takes this as an invitation to continue.

“We’ve been best friends for so long. If things stay the way they are now, I’m happy. I don’t want to risk losing Bucky all over again just because he doesn’t feel the same way about me. He likes dames-”

Natasha cracks a grin at this. 

“Shut up Nat, I’m old. Bucky likes women and I like men - him, specifically - but I’m happy with how things are right now. For the first time since, oh, I don’t even remember, I’m happy. I’m not sick, I have a home, I have Bucky back. Hell, I feel like I have a family again.”

“Oh, Steve,” Natasha says gently, and steps forward to hug him.

Steve wraps his arms around her and rests his chin on the top of her head, but the moment doesn’t last long because a bleary Tony stumbles into the kitchen and mumbles something about interrupting a moment. Nat steps out of Steve’s arms laughing, then picks up her unfinished coffee and goes back to her room.

Steve isn’t really sure why they all prefer to have breakfast in the communal area. After all, it’s not like they don’t all have kitchens in their apartments. Maybe it’s the company. Or maybe, now that Steve thinks about it, maybe it’s because none of them ever do any grocery shopping and the communal kitchen is always stocked with food and, more importantly, coffee. Beyond breakfast and the occasional sandwich here and there, no one really cooks anything, because why bother cooking when takeout is a viable option, and where all the uneaten food goes is a mystery. Sometimes Steve will bake something, just for old times sake. His favourite - everyone’s favourite - is the pear crumble his ma would make for his birthday every single year. It was always small when she did it, because they couldn’t afford half the ingredients they needed. Two pears instead of six, skip the sultanas and the spice. But now when he makes it, Steve ensures it’s big enough to last a whole week (it never does, they all eat like starving pigs).

The next morning Bucky wakes up with a killer hangover, his head pounding. When he sits up, the world starts spinning around its axis, and he flops back down with a groan loud enough for Steve to hear from the other room. He sticks his head through the door. There’s a smudge of paint on his cheek.

“Morning sunshine, you look like shit. I left you an aspirin and some water on the desk, if you want it,” he says cheerfully, and then he’s gone again. Knowing Steve, he’s probably been up for hours already, and when Bucky looks at the clock, he sees that it’s past midday. He throws a pillow over his face to muffle a moan and block out the light from the window that’s blinding him.

Five minutes later Steve is back, telling him that there’s pizza in the common area if he wants, but to hurry up because Sam is here too and he’s probably eaten a whole pizza in the time it took him to say that sentence. Bucky grins at him, though it takes a lot of effort, and climbs out of bed because the offer of pizza is too good to resist. They smile at each other and he feels like he’s going to blush because Steve’s grin is dazzling and Bucky might still be a little drunk because what the hell, since when does Steve make Bucky blush. There was that time Steve had walked in on him jerking off, and even that hasn’t phased either of them all that much. So Bucky blames his weird reaction on the alcohol and, after putting on a t-shirt (Steve’s) follows him out of the apartment, following the wonderful smell of pizza, hurrying a little when he hears Natasha yell at Clint to slow down because he has to leave enough for everyone else. As Bucky enters the kitchen, he realises that Natasha was just teasing because there’s easily enough pizza for everyone to have at least two to themselves. At least.

Bucky plops down on the couch beside Steve, joined from hip to knee. They always sit like this. No one ever says anything. Bucky is grateful, but he also thinks it’s because they understand how it feels to find comfort and security in human touch. And Bucky has been starved of contact for so long that he’s rarely alone anywhere. He spent the first two months following the others around like a lost puppy, looking genuinely hurt when they all went on a mission without him. Eventually, someone (he suspects Steve) talked Tony into training Bucky properly and letting him come with them. He understands why they were all so hesitant to let him train and handle dangerous weapons. Hell, he wasn’t so sure himself. Though Bucky was feeling pretty stable, pretty okay, he wasn’t sue if maybe seeing violence or handling a gun would trigger something inside his brain and turn him back into the Winter Soldier. But Steve’s unfaltering confidence that he would be fine, that he was Bucky and not a war machine, was all the convincing he needed.

The truth is, Bucky feels at ease with all the other Avengers. Their combination of confidence, cockiness and openness, the way they acted around each other, reminded him of the way he and Steve were pre-war. Steve wasn’t big on partying, so at first Bucky went alone and then, once Natasha realised where he was going so often, they went together. The first time their cab pulled up outside the bar, Natasha was surprised.

“This is a gay bar Barnes, you know that. Right?”

Bucky had crossed his arms defiantly, daring Nat to make fun of him. “Yeah. So what?”

“Nothing, just didn’t pin you as the type,” she says, shrugging and walking to the entry, a surprised Bucky following her. She’d let it go so easily. And…

“Wait, how d’you know this is a gay bar?” he asked, once he caught up to her.

“You’re not the only one who likes to have a good time. I know my way around bars, and I know what I like.”

And true to her word, half an hour later she’d disappeared somewhere with a tall, athletic-looking woman in tow, leaving a sullen Bucky at the bar, steadily getting drunker and drunker. He didn’t seem to be having the same success he usually has. He wondered momentarily what Steve would say if he knew where he was right now, but then he’s distracted by a raven-haired stranger offering to buy him a drink. His eyes are so blue, bluer than he’s ever seen ( _except Steve’s_ whispers a tiny voice at the back of his head).

By the time he got home, reeking of booze and cigarettes and sex, Steve was asleep on the couch, his sketchbook fallen open on the floor beside him. Bucky slipped into the shower quietly, so that Steve wouldn’t wake up and ask him about his night. He didn’t feel ready for Steve to know that he liked men. Because Steve, America’s golden boy, from the 40s, had been raised believing that sodomy was a sin, and Bucky wasn’t prepared to lose their friendship over something like this. Once he was done with his shower, it took every speck of willpower he had to not gently wake up Steve and half carry him to the bedroom. He's always slept better with Steve by his side, but he figured he could deal with being alone for one night.

And this is how things go for them. Usually they sleep together. But if one is out late, the other will sleep on the couch, because the bed feels empty and uncomfortable when they’re alone. After spending so long in cryo, in isolation and without one another, they both crave human touch, human warmth, to the extent that they are rarely not touching somewhere, be it at the knees when they’re sitting, or an arm swung over a shoulder if they’re walking.

That evening, after they’ve eaten their fill of pizza and watched a few (terrible) movies with everyone else, they go back to their apartment to lounge around and do nothing. Bucky sits against the window, reading a book, while Steve sits on the couch and draws him, capturing the way the golden rays of the sunset illuminate him, making all his features appear so much softer than they already are. Bucky loves the way Steve draws him, because he always makes him look so much better and stronger than he really is. Steve insists that he illustrates exactly what he sees, but he thinks that maybe his adoration for the other man multiplies the way he sees his beauty tenfold, though he doesn’t share this suspicion with Bucky. He just says it’s his art style that does it.

Bucky’s hangover finally gets the best of him so they go to bed well before midnight, and he’s out like a light the moment his head hits the pillow. As always, their legs are tangled and Bucky is cocooned in Steve’s arms, his head against his chest. They used to sleep like this back in their tiny cramped apartment before the war, when they couldn’t afford heating because Steve needed medicine, and the winters were cold and bitter. Except Steve was the one huddled in Bucky’s arms. Bucky falls asleep quickly, and Steve watches him sleep (it’s not creepy, okay? It’s just this Bucky’s face is right where his gaze falls. In fact, he doesn’t even have a choice but to watch him, okay?), wondering if the protectiveness he feels over Bucky now is how Bucky used to feel about him, back when he was sick and frail and at risk of breaking one of his tiny ribs every time he coughed. Bucky makes a sound at the back of his throat and shifts in Steve’s arms, and he tenses momentarily, looking for the telltale signs of a beginning of a nightmare, because this is what they do for each other. Shake the other awake before the horrors can kick in fully. But Bucky just burrows deeper under the covers and is still again, so Steve relaxes and tries his best to fall asleep.

But a few hours later, he’s still awake and now desperately thirsty, so he untangles himself as gently as he can from Bucky - thank god he’s a heavy sleeper - and tiptoes into the kitchen. He pours himself a glass of water and wanders over to the window. Really, this was the selling point for Steve, the reason he finally agreed to leave his dingy apartment and move into Stark Tower with the rest of the Avengers. The floor-to-ceiling window that takes up an entire wall of the condo. He leans his forehead on the cool glass and watches the city below him. The flickering of the lights is somehow comforting and so, so foreign to him at the same time. He tries to remember what the city would’ve looked like back in the 40s, but he doesn’t think he’d ever actually seen it from this vantage point. Still, some things have remained virtually unchanged, while others - most - have become almost unrecognisable. But there is no doubt in his mind that this is, and always will be, the city that feels like home. He finishes his water and goes back to the bedroom. Just as he goes to slide back between the covers, a groggy looking Bucky lifts his head and mumbles sleepily, “Steve?”

“Shit, sorry Buck. I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep,” he whispers.

“Why you up? Did ya have a nightmare or somethin’?” his voice is raspy with sleep, and Steve thinks it might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

“No, ‘m fine, just needed some water. C’mon, shuffle over.”

Bucky moves, still only half conscious, and Steve climbs back into the bed. They resume their usual position, but neither of them are sleeping now. Steve can almost hear his best friend’s mind whirring, and he waits for him to say whatever he’s thinking.

“Stevie? You trust me right? You’d tell me if something was bothering you?”

“Mhmm,” comes the patient reply, because that’s all Steve ever has been with his best friend. Patient. Because sometimes words don’t always come easily to Bucky.

There’s silence for a while, and Steve wonders if maybe Bucky has fallen asleep again, feels his own eyes starting to close slowly, when Bucky speaks again.

“Are you gay?”

Steve swears his heart stops in his chest for a second, then starts pounding so hard that the people in the next building over can probably hear it. He isn’t sure how to reply, wonders momentarily if maybe he can just pretend to be asleep.

“I… what makes you say that?” he sounds defensive, which is not good.

“Well,” Bucky sounds wide awake now, “Well. You never seem interested in any of the girls Tony tries to set you up with. Sometimes you look at guys a lot longer than you look at girls. Am I just being annoyingly picky?”

Bucky’s tone surprises Steve, because he suddenly sounds unsure and maybe even a little embarrassed and apologetic. Steve sits up and leans against the headboard, looking down at Bucky. He sees nothing judging in his best friend’s face. Nothing… negative. There’s question in his eyes, but his face remains perfectly impassive, as though trying to say _you can back out you don’t have to answer_. But Steve trusts Bucky more than he’s trusted anyone in his whole life. He drags his eyes away, focusing instead on the painting that hangs on the otherwise blank wall (and Tony would blow his shit if he knew they’d nailed something to the pristine walls of his tower). Bucky sits cross-legged opposite Steve, waiting patiently for a response.

“Ever since we were kids,” Steve begins, then pauses. What he wants to say is _ever since we were kids I knew I was in love with you_.

What he says is “ever since we were kids, I knew something was different. I never really had any interest in the girls you tries to set me up with, which is why I hated the double dates so much. Those poor girls were probably left wondering why they were stuck with me while their friend got so lucky with you. It’s a weird feeling, you know, not living up to anybody’s expectations, even in something as small as wanting to sleep with girls. It just never really interested me. And then, after the serum, while I was on tour…” he swallows nervously. He’s never told anyone this before. “While I was on tour, there was a man who travelled with us. He looked after the costumes and everything. Made sure they were clean and spiffy, you know? So we spent a lot of time together and… we… he was…”

Bucky nods at him, understanding what Steve is trying so hard to say.

“Yeah, so he was my first. And, oh my god, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it felt like someone had, I don’t know, opened my eyes to everything I’d been missing out on all these years. My entire life, basically. Then after the war, when I woke up and I was here, in New York, and everything was different, I felt like I didn’t have to hide this as much. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t exactly advertise it. No one really knows, but there are clubs and bars for people like me so I get my fill there and it’s okay. So to answer your question: yes, I am gay.”

When Bucky is silent, Steve becomes defensive. “Is this going to be a problem, Buck? Because if it’s an issue you know that Tony will set you up with separate living quarters and-”

He’s cut off when Bucky leans up and over to hug Steve. “Shut up, you big dope. I don’t care that you like men. It changes nothing between us. You hear that? Nothing.”

And Steve is simultaneously relieved and disappointed, because somewhere in the back of his mind he’d been hoping that once he opened up to Bucky, he’d hear something similar back. But it seems that he still likes girls and, more importantly, not Steve. The anxiety that had been rushing through his veins seems to all leave him in one loud exhale, and he slides back down under the covers, still holding Bucky close, relishing the fact that even though he can’t have him in the way he wants, this is still pretty goddamn wonderful and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No clue how long this'll be yet, but quality over quantity I guess?? Any feedback is greatly appreciated. Also, anyone who wants to beta. My marvel blog is at radiantbarnes.tumblr.com :-)  
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With our backs to the wall, the darkness will fall  
> We never quite thought we could lose it all  
> Ready, aim, fire, ready, aim, fire  
> An empire’s fall in just one day.

Bucky wakes for the second time that night around 2am. He’s had a nightmare about being captured from the safety of Steve’s bed and being taken back to Hydra headquarters, wherever they are nowadays. And they’d reconditioned him back into the Winter Soldier and he’d come back to Stark Tower and killed everyone and he’d left Steve for last and he’d felt so completely _helpless_. And he hadn’t been able to do anything to stop himself. It was like Howard and Maria all over again; he could see what he was doing, was aware that he was slaying his friends, his family. And the horror, the _horror_ of what he was doing gripped him, but the brainwashing rendered him helpless to his feelings and he could not stop. This was what terrified him most. The horror lies intrinsically in the fact that he cannot control himself, down to the very last neuron.

Bucky stirs, shivering and sweating and with Steve leaning over him, shaking his shoulder and repeating _Bucky Bucky Bucky_ over and over again, trying to wake him. He doesn’t even realise he’s crying until Steve wipes at his cheek with the pad of his thumb. 

“Breathe, Bucky, it was just a nightmare. Breathe.”  


But Bucky can’t breathe because his throat is closing up and his hands are tingling and his face is numb and his head is spinning and he can’t see because black spots are dotting his vision and _nothing is okay_ and _oh god_ he’s going to die going to die going to die.

“Bucky, please, it’s okay, you’re okay, you’re safe. I’m here. You’re safe.”

But Bucky isn’t safe and he isn’t okay because all it takes is _ten words_ to set him off and make him a murdering slave all over again and he is horrified that he can’t trust his mind and oh _god_ the world around him seems to be collapsing and he still can’t _breathe_ so he grips his head to stop it spinning but nothing stops and he clutches harder, grasps his hair in his fists but for some reason the pain doesn’t ground him the way usually does and his chest keeps constricting and he’s gasping for breath, a wet, pathetic sound, because he’s still crying and he still can’t _fucking_ breathe.

“I’m going to get Natasha. Are you okay with that? I’ll be back in thirty seconds,” and Steve stands to move but Bucky grabs his hand like a vice and doesn’t let go because right now Steve is the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground, so Steve stretches over to the bedside table for his phone and calls Natasha instead, not even bothering to apologise for waking her. He’s done the same for Natasha many times when she’s been in Bucky’s position so she _understands._

Two minutes later Natasha is in their room and Bucky is sitting up, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, Steve kneeling on the floor in front of him, holding Bucky’s thighs as if to stop them shaking. Bucky muffles his mouth with his hand to stop the loud gasps from escaping him, because even after all this time, he still believes that his panic attacks are a sign of weakness and he tries to hide them. Natasha sits beside Steve and speaks gently.

“Yasha, мой дорогой. _My darling_.”

This is about all Steve understands. The nickname, which Nat uses only when Bucky is like this. He recognises the Russian word for _darling_ too, because he’s heard it so many times, between Nat and Bucky. Too many times, because this happens to Bucky a lot. The first time Steve saw this, the way Nat calmed Bucky down in Russian, he didn’t really understand. Wouldn’t Russian just trigger memories of Bucky’s past? But he grew to understand that it’s Natasha and the common tongue that calms him down because they share the same past, and no one really understands his fears _except_ Nat. Because none of the other Avengers really understand how it feels to have someone get inside their brain and manipulate their morals, their beliefs, their actions.They calm each other down in Russian because it’s a way to ignore their surrounding and retreat somewhere quieter and more private. And, Steve suspects, it’s also because Nat knows that the things she says to Bucky are meant to stay between them, and because Steve refuses to leave Bucky’s side when he’s like this, Russian is the best option.

Eventually, Bucky’s breathing slows down and his tense muscles relax, so Steve pulls him into a hug as Nat gets up to leave. 

“Don’t leave. Пожалуйста. _Please_ ,” Bucky chokes out. 

Natasha nods and tells Bucky she’ll sleep on the couch in the living room, to wake her if he needs anything. 

They sit in silence for a while, Bucky enveloped in Steve’s arms. 

“I’m sorry,” mutters Bucky eventually. 

“Don’t say that, you’ve done nothing wrong,” Steve tells him, running his hand through Bucky’s hair, because he knows how it relaxes him. 

Bucky looks absolutely miserable as he hides his face in Steve’s shoulder, in an attempt to conceal the tears that still drip down his cheeks, a steady metronome of pain, perfectly in time with the dull throb of pain behind his eyes. 

“Can I get you anything? Tea? Water? Do you-”

“Can we just get back into bed?” Bucky interrupts, and Steve nods, relieved.

They lie facing each other, Steve holding Bucky’s hand gently under the covers, because human warmth is what Bucky craves most at moments like this. A few times, Bucky opens and closes his mouth as though he wants to say something, then decides not too. This makes Steve a bit nervous, because he figures it’s probably serious if it’s taking even Bucky this long to formulate his thoughts into a sentence. 

“About what you said earlier…” Bucky starts, but Steve shakes his head to stop him.

“Please, Buck, let’s not talk about that right now. It doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does. I-”

“I really think you should sleep, Bucky, you must be exhausted.”

“Steve, I’m trying to-”

“Bucky, _please_ , I really don’t want to talk about my sexuality right now, okay?"

“Will you shut up for a second, you idiot? I’m trying to tell you I’m gay too.”

This shuts Steve right up, who can only blink at Bucky, trying to formulate some sort of coherent thought.

Bucky takes advantage of the silence, finally, and continues. “I mean, I like girls too, but. Guys are. Um. Guys are better.”

“So you’re bisexual,” Steve states. It isn’t a question.

There’s something in his face that Bucky can’t quite read, and it bothers him, because he’d damn well like to know what Steve is thinking right about now. But Steve doesn’t say anything, so Bucky turns away so his back is against Steve’s chest, because he can’t look at him right now. Not until he says something. And his heart rate is picking up again, jesus _christ_.

After a while, Steve asks, “does anyone else know?”

“Natasha does.”  


“Oh.”

This stings for some reason. That Natasha knew but he didn’t. It’s irrational, he knows, because who Bucky tells is Bucky’s business. And also because he’d told Nat he was gay long before he told Bucky (though he tries to make excuses by telling himself that Natasha had forced it out of him).

“I… thank you for telling me, Buck,” Steve replies eventually, because he doesn’t really know what else to say.

“Thanks for, you know, not being weird about it. Some people are iffy about this stuff. Like, as if you either have to like one or the other. It’s bullshit,” he says bitterly.

They’ve both forgotten that Nat was in the room next to them, and when she gets up to go to the bathroom, she can’t help but overhear their conversation. She stands outside the bedroom door, not wanting to disturb them. Natasha knows their relationship, comes closest to actually understanding it, out of any of the other Avengers. The safety and security they feel when they’re together. And to people who don’t really know them, it just looks like a close friendship, or, to people like Tony, like they’re fucking. But it’s deeper than that. Deeper than anyone could really understand, because no one has a past like Steve and Bucky. They’re still murmuring to each other in the bedroom, wrapped in their warm cocoon of blankets and tangled limbs, so Nat takes the chance and slinks by the bedroom silently, praying that they won’t hear. She’s pretty sure Steve lifts his head a tiny bit as she passes the open door, but he doesn’t say anything, so neither does she.

++

Bucky wakes first the next morning, and decides to thank Steve and Nat for their help by making them breakfast. When he stumbles into the communal kitchen, the only person up is Tony (possibly because he didn’t actually sleep). He takes in Bucky’s disheveled appearance - the tousled bed hair, boxers, bleary eyes, and a sweater that is very obviously Steve’s.

“Morning Tony,” Bucky greets him as he opens the fridge, looking for eggs.  


“Morning. Late night?”

“Yeah, kind of-” Bucky glances up and catches Tony’s expression; the cocked eyebrow and suggestive smirk. “No, god, not like that. Jesus.”

Steve chooses this exact moment to enter the kitchen, looking as worn out as Bucky, sans shirt.

“Hey Tony,” he waves, then wraps his arm around Bucky’s shoulder, who has abandoned his search for eggs, and says softly, “How you feelin'?”

Before Bucky has a chance to reply, Tony speaks up with a gleeful “ _not like that_ huh?”

Steve blushes and tells Tony where to stick it, then pulls three mugs out and fills them at the coffee machine. He hands one to Bucky, who downs it like a man dying of thirst, then passes it back to Steve for a refill.

As they’re heading back to Steve’s apartment, Tony seems to do the maths and figure out that the number of mugs doesn’t equal the number of people.

“Who’s the third one for?” he asks.

“Natasha,” Steve says over his shoulder smugly, anticipating Tony’s reaction with some sort of childish glee.

“ _Romanoff_? Quite the sleepover. Why wasn’t I invited?” he calls.

The reply comes in the form of laughs echoing down the hall. As they walk, side by side, Steve gets the sudden urge to hold Bucky’s hand, the way they used to when they walked to school together as little kids. 

Steve looks back on those days wistfully. They didn’t have much, sure, but Steve had Sarah and Bucky and not a care in the world. Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both school yard and battlefield. And even though he was thin and sick a lot of the time, he was happy. He was always happy. He had his art and his books and he had Bucky. But his mom and his eagerness towards life seemed to die at the same time. The war seemed to come at the right time. Homosexuality was a sin and suicide was a sin, and Steve really didn’t want to go to hell. Dying while fighting for his country seemed an honourable way to go out. Surely God would forgive his sins and give him a one way ticket to the pearly gates in the sky. He was a good man, after all. If Bucky suspected his motives, he never said anything except that Steve shouldn’t join the army because it was a certain death sentence.

“The slightest breeze could knock you right over,” he’d told Steve, who, with a fever and a cough that could break his ribs, tried to get dressed to head over to the recruitment centre. He’d agreed to stay home that day, but the next week, as soon as he was well enough, and Bucky had left for his job at the docks, Steve had put on his Sunday best and headed out the door. That evening, Bucky found yet another rejection letter on the dining table.

“Massachusetts? Seriously Steve? What’s next, Kentucky? It’s a crime to lie on your enlistment form, you know.”

But Steve just nodded miserably and said he was going to bed.

“Why are you so set on joining up anyway? You could do so much good here. People need art, buddy.”

“There are men laying down their lives and you expect me to sit on my ass all day? I can’t do that.”

It’s only half a lie. But Bucky doesn’t need to know the rest.

And then he’d been crash-landing that plane because it’d been the _honourable_ and _brave_ thing to do, except the impact didn’t kill him so he climbed out of his seat and lay down and waited for the cold to take him instead.

But Steve was never one to go back on promises, and he had promised Peggy Carter a dance.

So here he is, seventy-odd years later, wondering how the hell sickly, thin, asthmatic Stevie had turned into Steve Rogers, Captain America, the superhero who was going to bring the world salvation.

Natasha is gone when they get back, and she isn’t in her apartment, so Steve stands in the hallway yelling “who wants coffee!” and in three seconds flat Bruce is there, taking the mug meant for Nat gratefully and chugging it down eagerly. He’s even nice enough to take the mug back to the communal kitchen and wash it, instead of handing it back to Steve and going happily on their way like some people (Bucky) do. 

It’s a good morning.

++

By late afternoon, everyone is gathered back in the living area playing _Operation_. When Bucky says that living with these guys is like being back in school, he’s not really too far off. Bruce and Clint are snuggled up on the couch, whispering to each other in hushed voices. Bucky knows he’s not the only one who notices this unexpected phenomenon, because he can see Tony and Sam throwing glances to each other and snickering quietly every time Banner gets particularly touchy-feely. Bucky wonders when this might’ve happened, because he can remember quite vividly that only last week Clint was complaining about how he hasn’t gotten laid since like, 1964. Eventually, when they get noisy enough to distract Natasha and make her lose the game (which, coincidentally, hasn’t happened since like, 1964 as well), she forgets her patience.

“Jesus, will you guys get a room?”

Clint and Bruce both look up, seemingly genuinely surprised to remember that they’re not alone.

“This is a public space, you can’t kick us out,” says Clint defensively, though he moves away from Bruce the tiniest fraction of an inch.

“Sure we can. Now piss off,” Nat grumbles, still bitter about her loss.

“Well how come you’re not kicking Steve and Bucky out? I mean, look at them, they’re practically in each other’s pants.”

And it’s true. Bucky is sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, and Steve is sitting in the V of his legs, sketching something. It’s perfectly innocent, really, but Bucky understands where Clint is coming from and is suddenly painfully aware of the heat and weight of Steve’s ass against his crotch, of Steve’s back against his chest.

“We’re not feeling each other up,” says Steve pointedly, not even looking up from his drawing, “we’re just comfortable like this.”

“Don’t forget Tony’s-” Bucky mutters softly, so Tony can only catch his name but not the rest of the sentence. He loves teasing Tony, he really does. Getting him riled up and all. It’s good fun.

“Don’t forget Tony’s _what_?” he asks, sounding horrifically offended, though he has no idea what Bucky could possibly be referring to, because he’s pretty sure he’s perfect and there’s no way Steve could possibly forget any part of him.

Steve is drawing the view from the window, but he goes along with Bucky’s game.

“Yeah, I got the tiny…” he quietens to a whisper, and he and Bucky snigger quietly, while Tony looks on in offence.

“Tiny what? Do you want me to call Pepper? Pepper can tell you. Nothing _tiny_ , nothing even remotely tiny about me.”

“Yeah, okay, Tony. Whatever.”

“Besides, you guys aren’t any better than these little lovebirds here. How do we know Bucky isn’t hiding anything dodgy in his lap, huh?”

“Because we’re like _brothers_ , Tony. Don’t be disgusting,” Bucky replies, and Steve feels his heart shatter a little bit in his chest.

He gets up from his spot on the floor and heads out of the room.

“Aw, c’mon Rogers, it was just a joke,” Tony whines.

“I’m just going to the bathroom Stark. Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone.”

“Jarvis, tell Steve to shut the fuck up.”

“Apologies sir, but that is beyond my capabilities,” Jarvis replies.

Steve grins.

++

“You should get driving lessons,” says Steve one afternoon, basking by the window in the fading light of the day. It’s September, and the city is beginning to turn golden.

“We live in New York. Why would I need to drive?” asks Bucky.

“So that you can get places without depending on taxis and public transport,” Steve tells him, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Bucky sighs, knowing that he’s fighting a losing battle. There was a time, long ago, when the roles were reversed and _Bucky_ always won the arguments. But things have changed, and Steve thinks that Bucky needs a car.

“I don’t even have a car.”

“Tony will get you one. He’s like, a billionaire. It won’t even make a dent in his budget. C’mon pal, all superheroes need a car.”

“I’m not a superhero. And _you_ don’t have a car,” he says stubbornly. “Besides, no one even drives-”

“I have my bike. And this isn’t the forties Buck,” says Steve gently, and Bucky knows he’s lost. 

The deal is that Steve teaches him how to drive, not an instructor. And the other deal is that they do it out in the countryside, where there aren’t any cars (or people) to hit. Which Bucky is sure would happen otherwise. 

They borrow one of Tony’s older and less valuable cars ( _a Mercedes_ , Bucky realises anxiously) and drive a couple hours out of the city for the occasion. They even rent a hotel room so Bucky can do some driving at night. And because Steve wants an excuse to be alone with Bucky, but he doesn’t say that. Obviously.

Steve parks the car in an empty field and him and Bucky switch seats.

“Ok, put your foot on the brake, turn the key, put the car on park.”

Bucky does this, nervously.

“Good, now check the mirrors. You should be able to see the handle of the rear door in each mirror,and the back windshield should be aligned with this mirror here. Got it?”

“Mhmm,” Bucky replies through tight lips.

“Great. Now switch the car to drive, that’s the D there, sorry, _sorry_ , I know, now take your foot off the brake and gently, _slowly_ , put it on the gas.”

Bucky presses on the gas and the car zips forward suddenly. Bucky blanches and grips the steering wheel tighter, his foot firmly planted back on the brake.

“Jesus, Buck, I said _slowly_. Try again. You have to press only the tiniest bit, it’s very sensitive. Hardly even press it, just put your foot on it and-”

“I _get_ it, Steve,” Bucky says through tight lips, eyes fixed firmly ahead and jaw set.

Bucky drives in slow circles for a long time, until Steve starts to get dizzy and tells him that maybe they should go out on the road now. Bucky agrees reluctantly, and drives to the side of the highway, where he stops and looks at it apprehensively. 

“C’mon, you can do it. It’s forty minutes back to the hotel. You get us there, I’ll buy dinner from the restaurant instead of ordering take-out. Deal?”

“I _like_ take-out,” Bucky whines, but turns on the indicators to turn onto the road all the same.

The rest of the drive, Steve instructs him on road rules as they approach intersections and road signs. By the end of the trip, Bucky is, if not confident, at least more relaxed.

The traipse up to their room on the third floor and Bucky collapses on the bed.

“I need a nap. That was exhausting.”

“Ok, I’m gonna have a shower. Do you want me to wake you for dinner?”

Bucky is asleep before he even finishes his nod. 

Steve stands in the shower for a long time, the hot stream of water pummelling the tense muscles in his shoulder - driving with Bucky is stressful. The shitty bar of hotel soap hardly even lathers, so Steve washes his body with shampoo that smells of flowers and then, shrugging, decides he might as well wash his hair too. Once he’s out of the shower he realises he’s left the towels on the bed, where they were when they arrived. He tries calling Bucky, but the man sleeps like the dead, so he takes his chances and zooms out of the bathroom naked, prying a towel out from under Bucky’s feet before he has a chance to wake up and see Steve’s bare ass in his face. The towel wrapped firmly around his waist, he sits on the foot of the bed and jostles Bucky’s leg.

“Buck, wake up.”

Bucky doesn’t even stir.

“Hey, wake up. I want dinner,” but Bucky still isn’t moving, so Steve sighs and grabs the pillow out from under his head. 

Bucky wakes with a jerk, then sits up, looking disorientated. 

“ _Whasappening_ ,” he slurs, still shaking off the remnants of his nap. “What century is it?”

He flops against Steve’s side and drops his head into his shoulder sleepily. “Mmm, you smell nice.”

“Give me five minutes to get dressed and we’ll go eat,” says Steve, standing up quickly to hide his blush, forcing Bucky to stay upright by himself, which seems to wake him up.

“Ngh, yeah, ok. I’ll go grab a table. Think it’s fully booked tonight,” Bucky says, heaving himself off the bed and groaning when his back cracks.

Steve winces sympathetically. “You should really get that checked out,” he says, biting back a grimace when Bucky’s left shoulder pops painfully. “We have a physio, you know?”

“Don’t like strangers touching me,” Bucky replies, which Steve translates to _you’re giving me a massage after we eat_.

++

And Bucky does demand a back rub after they get back from a very satisfying dinner of steak and a mountain of mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables.

He lies on his front and Steve sits on his ass, which probably isn’t safe for Bucky’s back, but whatever, and digs his fingers into the muscles around Bucky’s neck, who groans in relief. His shoulders are so tense they’re almost rock solid, and for the umpteenth time, he wishes Bucky would try physiotherapy.

“You know how good it feels when the physio cracks your back and neck and everything pops back into place?” he says, hoping to convince Bucky.

“Hydra used to put a strap around my neck to keep me in place while they tortured me. I don’t like being touched by strangers.”

And like that, the conversation is over.

Later, Steve has to lock himself in the bathroom and do something he hasn’t done since his years in the army - jerk off over the toilet, biting into his fist to keep quiet. He imagines that the fist sliding over his cock is Bucky’s and comes into the toilet with a silent shudder, then flushes it away unceremoniously.

He goes back into the bedroom and climbs into bed while Bucky is still putting his pyjamas on. The way his body shifts, his muscles flex, as he moves as gracefully as a dance, the way his cheekbones stand out in this light and his hair curls softly at his neck has Steve itching for a sketchpad, if not to draw him then to at least hide his impending hard-on before Bucky sees.

But Steve is tired and by the time Bucky is in bed too, their bodies touching everywhere, Steve is so ready to sleep that the night passes without incident.

The next morning, Steve wakes to the sound of the door slamming, and an angel in the form of Bucky with a tray of breakfast emerges from around the corner. He puts the food on the desk by the window and kneels by Steve to see if he’s awake. 

“Stevie, wake up, I have breakfast. And coffee.”

At the word “coffee” his eyes snap open, and he smiles at Bucky happily. “Oh my god I love you.”

“I know,” says Bucky, ruffling Steve’s hair as he stands. 

Steve swats his hand away and sits up, leaning against the padded headboard and making himself comfortable as Bucky puts the tray on the bed and settles opposite Steve. His mouth waters at the sight of eggs, avocado, bacon, cheese, three types of jams, a fruit salad and a mountain of toast. And two monstrous-sized mugs of coffee. Actually, Steve suspects that Bucky might’ve ordered four breakfasts instead of two, but his growling stomach assures him that really? It won’t be a problem. Between the two of them, they demolish the meal in twenty minutes, and not a single crumb is left. If the serum was good for anything, it was speeding up their metabolisms and allowing them to eat extraordinary amounts of food with no negative consequences.

Bucky sinks onto his back with a sigh, rubbing his stomach in content. Steve agrees, chasing one last bit of yolk around his plate with a crust, then chewing on it slowly. Breakfasts aren’t usually in high supply at home; they all get up so late - except Steve and Sam, who like to run before the city awakens - that by the time they get around to food, it’s usually lunch time. If they’re busy, no one really bothers with breakfast, except a coffee (and maybe some cereal if they can be bothered).

The drive back is silent, with the exception of the radio, because Bucky is behind the wheel again and Steve is quietly nervous, because there are actual cars around this time and Bucky is driving at 60 in a 65 zone, which is twice the speed they were going yesterday. But he just white-knuckles the side of the seat and keeps his eyes set firmly on the road ahead. In contrast, Bucky seems alarmingly relaxed, as though his confidence in driving grew magically overnight. Steve wonders if maybe the serum speeds up learning processes too, whether it actually has the power to increase the growth rate of neural pathways and whatnot. Bucky has always been a quick learner, but not even someone as clever as Bucky could learn to drive this quickly. 

Steve reaches over to the back seat and grabs his backpack so he can pull out a book - Harry Potter, because he has a lot to catch up on - and settles down to read.

“Which one is that?” Bucky asks, not taking his eyes off the road.

“The forth. It’s my favourite is far.”

“Wait till you get to the fifth. Best in the whole series. You seen the movies yet?”

“No, I wanted to read the books before I watch them.”

“Let’s watch the first one when we get back. You’ll like it,” Bucky says with a smile.

“Where d’you find all these movies anyway? Bruce’s DVD collection is full of weird shit.”

“Netflix is a magical thing, old man.”

“I’m 95, I’m not dead,” Steve reminds him.

By the time they arrive home, it’s dark outside, and not a single light is on in the entire building. Just as Steve is about to pull out his phone and call Tony, to check if everything is okay, all the lights flicker back on. All of them at once. And the building seems to _whir_ back to life. Bucky and Steve look at each other and Bucky shrugs, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of the car, tossing the keys to Steve, who catches them swiftly (obviously).

They enter the building warily, alert for any signs of movements on the lower floors, because no one is ever here after hours except the other Avengers, and they all reside on the upper floors of the tower. They take the elevator up to the top floor together, and are greeted by a surprising scene upon entering the common area. Everyone is spread out on the couches and armchairs, knocking back drinks and taking turns at trying, and failing, to lift Thor’s hammer from the glass coffee table.

“Uh, hi? What was that blackout about?” Steve asks, confused.

“Hey Steve, Bucky, someone tried to gain control over Jarvis to sneak a peak at our files, so we had to reboot the operating system. Which I’ve never done before and have now learned that it uses up too much power and makes the electricity fuck up. So I’m back in the shop first thing tomorrow morning to fix that,” Tony says, nursing a glass of whisky in one hand, leaning comfortably against the plush couch as though someone trying to steal their files is an every day occurrence.

“Oh right, no big deal then. Of course,” Steve says, taking a seat on the floor because these fuckers have taken up all the couch space.

Bucky plops down next to him, an open bottle of cider already in his hand.

“Hey Steve, reckon you could lift the hammer? I’ve got ten dollars on the line here,” asks Clint, a wad of one dollar bills clutched tightly in his fist.

“Well. I mean. I can try. But no promises,” he says, standing and rolling up his sleeves. Foot bracedfirmly against the table, he grasps the handle like a baseball bat and pulls with all his might. Although he can’t lift it, he does manage to move it about half an inch, which makes Thor’s previously laughing face drop into a frown. Tony crows proudly as Clint throws the notes at him, looking unhappy.

“What about you Sarge?” Steve asks Bucky as he sits back down. “Reckon you could lift it?”

Bucky laughs, because _seriously_ , if Steve couldn’t lift it, as if he could. But all the same, he stands up and seizes the handle tightly. Then he yanks at it with all his might, and it lifts off the table with such ease that he stumbles back, the hammer still in his hands. A hush falls over the room, every single face turned to Bucky.

“Well, what the fuck?” Bucky asks no one in particular. 

“The hammer can only be lifted by those it deems worthy,” Thor tells him, looking slightly shocked himself.

A look passes over Bucky’s face that no one recognises except Steve, who hasn’t seen this expression in over seventy years.

Pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too sure about the use of actual Russian phrases in an English work but... thoughts? Anyone? Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. I'm still on the lookout for a beta if anyone's interested. 
> 
> My blog is at radiantbarnes.tumblr.com - heaps of Seb Stan and Stucky, if you're into that kinda thing (which I'm assuming you would be, as you're reading this). I think I'm gonna bite the bullet and say there'll be an update a week (at least for now), but as for how long I intend this to be? No clue. Just gonna see where it takes me. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was so clear but now it's gone  
> I couldn't keep my eyelids shut  
> Why can't you stay?  
> If only I could dream we could start again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief descriptions of violence. And Steve being an asshole.

Steve Rogers has never been a man of many words. They have never come to him with ease, except with a select few people - his mother, and Bucky. For a while, while Bucky was gone, he hardly spoke at all, to the point where Natasha had suggested going to a therapist (he didn’t) and Clint ( _Clint_ ) offered to take him club-hopping (he did). This is Steve’s biggest issue. He can’t fucking formulate the words he needs to tell Bucky that he loves him, has _always_ loved him.

Bucky Barnes has, on the other hand, always been a man of many words. And his problem is that he can’t keep his trap shut; lives in a constant state of tension because he might, at any second, blab something he doesn’t mean to. Like the fact that he loves Steve Rogers. That the man is the light of his life, his sun and his moon and every star he sees in the sky. Bucky struggles to shorten the goddamn _novel_ he’s got in his head about his feelings for Steve, because the man’s attention span is awful and by the time Bucky would get to the end, Steve would either be asleep or forgotten what they were discussing in the first place.

Bucky has never been one to sit still for long, which is why Steve isn’t surprised when he tells him he’s going job hunting.

“Why though? Not for the money, surely. You know we have everything we need.”

Steve is in the gym, pummelling the punching bag furiously.

“Well, wouldn’t you want to do something in your spare time other than sit around doing nothing?” Bucky asks, pulling at a loose thread on his red sweater.

“Well, yeah but… I can’t really do much, you know?” Steve tells him, turning away from the bag and wiping sweat off his neck with the back of his hand.

Bucky swallows nervously at the sight, but doesn’t push the conversation because Steve’s face is unreadable, which usually means upset or angry, and Bucky has always been the tactful one.

“Ok buddy, I’ll be back later.”

“Good luck,” Steve tells him earnestly, and goes back to the bag as Bucky leaves.

Ironically, Bucky’s new job involves only sitting still and being naked in front of people - two things at which he’s never been particularly good. He’d wandered around the city all day looking for places that were hiring, but nothing caught his eye except a poster at an art school reading “Models Needed - Enquire Within.” So Bucky enquired, and next thing he knew he was hired to post nude for an art class of twenty-somethings learning to paint. In fact, the art teacher hadn’t even so much as glanced at his qualifications (luckily, as he has none), just looked him up and down and taken him on the spot (he suspects they saw some kind of weird artistic value in his metal arm).

As Bucky was explaining this to Steve - who was trying to make pasta for everyone, bless him - a smirk crosses over Steve’s face, much to Bucky’s confusion

“You do realise they want you to pose nude, right?”

Bucky looks up sharply, almost slicing his finger off with the knife he’s using to chop an onion. The knife clangs harmlessly on his metal finger and Bucky stares at Steve in horror.

“No they don’t,” he says indignantly. 

“Um, yeah they do, Buck. They only get models externally for nude portraits, otherwise they’ll just use volunteers from other classes.”

“And you know this _how_?” the knife is clutched tightly in his fist.

“I did an art course a couple years ago, before you came back. It was probably at the same school you went to today, come to think of it. It’s the only one within walking distance,” Steve tells him, scooping up the onion Bucky’s chopped and tossing it on the pan, where it sizzles and pops, filling in the silence while Bucky stands ramrod straight, realising his mistake.

“It’ll be good for your confidence,” Steve reassures him, “having a group of people view you and paint you as a work of art is a really gratifying experience.”

“Except, y’know, I’ll be naked and probably vomiting nervously inside my mouth.”

“You’ll be fine Bucky, just wait and see. The first time you get undressed in front of a group of strangers is terrifying, but once you realise they want nothing more than a body to draw, it stops mattering.”

“You’re saying this like you’ve been in my place,” Bucky says, not really meaning anything by it. 

But Steve’s noticeable lack of response answers the question Bucky didn’t even ask.

++

A few nights later, Bucky stumbles into their apartment, not exactly shit-faced, but definitely not sober. Steve doesn’t even look up from the book he’s reading before telling Bucky that he’s not getting into bed until he has a shower.

But Bucky just stands there staring at Steve, strong, beautiful Steve who is built like a God and stronger than Hercules was and kinder than, well, anyone Bucky knows. Steve, who is his best friend and Bucky has been in love with him since they were kids - since Steve was the scrawny little boy who needed Bucky to protect him from bullies because he wasn’t strong enough to defend himself in a fight. He wonders momentarily if he’s drunk enough to proclaim his love, only to blame it on the alcohol if, no, when Steve reacts negatively. But he thinks of all the things Steve has to deal with anyway - the fight he had with Tony yesterday, the look of exhaustion written clearly on his face and, Bucky suspects, the lingering remains of the PTSD that Steve never really had a chance to recover from after the war - and realises that there are more important things to Steve right now than Bucky’s childhood crush.

Steve is so absorbed in his work that Bucky thinks he probably doesn’t even notice that he’s being watched (he does though. Steve is just a decent actor) so he heads towards the bathroom before he says something stupid like _I’m in love with you_.

“What’s that on your throat?” asks Steve, as Bucky turns away.

“I… what?” he brings his hand up to his throat, wincing when he prods the tender skin. “Oh, um. A hickey? Probably.”

“Looks kinda like a fingerprint,” Steve says stonily.

Bucky is annoyed suddenly, because Steve has no right to pry in this part of Bucky’s life. It’s none of his business. At all.

“It’s just a hickey Steve, let it go.”

“Who gave it to you?”

Steve isn't prodding for answers, not necessarily, but there’s an inkling of curiosity in his voice.

“A guy.”

“Who was he? Where’d you go with him?”

Steve’s just protective, as always, but it rubs Bucky the wrong way.

“We both had a bit to drink, we made out at the bar, we went back to his place and he fucked me into next week. And then I came home. Happy?” 

Two spots of red have appeared high up on Bucky’s cheeks, and it’s not because of the alcohol.

“You went _home_ with a guy you’ve never met before and _slept_ with him?” the amount of judgement and hostility in Steve’s voice riles Bucky up and he hits his boiling point.

“ _Listen_ , buddy. I do what I want and you have the audacity to tell me it’s wrong? And that I shouldn’t do it? I’m an adult and I can make my own decisions. This isn’t the 1940s Steve; guys sleep with guys they’ve just met and no one bats an eyelid. Why is it such an issue for you?” Bucky spits, turning on his heel and storming out of the room.

His hands are clenched into fists and shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched up defensively. His heart is thudding in his chest and he can feel it in his throat. He doesn’t remember ever being so pissed off at Steve before.

“Bucky!” Steve is using his Captain America voice, and Bucky whirls around, nostrils flaring with anger. The deep voice he used both onstage and in the battlefield during the war. The one that had girls falling at his feet and soldiers standing to command; once upon a time, Bucky was one those soldiers, doing what Steve ordered and not thinking twice. But now… now it just flares his anger further. Who the fuck does Steve think he is, bossing Bucky around like he’s in charge? And what fucking business does he have prying in Bucky’s personal life?  


“It’s got _nothing_ to do with you Steve. It’s _my_ life, _my_ decision and _my_ body. I-”

“I’m asking you because I want you to be safe!” Steve shouts, and Bucky sways where he stands, taken aback by Steve’s change in demeanour. He doesn’t yell, even when he’s furious. It’s not in his nature, because Steve is gentle and kind and wants to keep people safe. 

“Have you considered, even for a second, that I’m an adult and that I don’t _need_ your fucking protection,” Bucky growls, his voice dangerously low. “It has nothing, _nothing_ , to do with you. You hear?”

“Bucky, I…”

“You’re all holier-than-thou baby-faced virgin Steve Rogers and I’m the bad guy with the metal arm but Steve, you’re not a fucking saint and I’m not in need of your salvation.” Bucky spits, almost vibrating with anger.

“Bucky-”

“No, stop. I don’t want to hear it. I’m not your goddamn property.”

Bucky turns away again, because he can’t look at Steve anymore.

“Bucky-”

“Stop.”

“Bucky! Will you listen to me for a _moment_?”

Bucky stops, but doesn’t turn to face him. “I’m giving you all of ten seconds.”

“I want you to be safe because you’re my best friend and I care about you. I lost you once and I don’t want it to happen again, so I’m _sorry_ , okay, if it comes across as too much, but when people are as close as we are they care about each other’s safety. Jesus Christ, Buck. Let me be a good friend.”

“Right now, you’re being _way_ more than what’s necessary. Night, Steve.”

++

Bucky ends up crashing on the couch in the communal living area. He leaves the TV on too, in case anyone asks why he slept there. This way, he can just say he wanted to watch a movie but Steve wanted to sleep. And that he was hungry. He even leaves an empty bag of chips and beer bottle by the couch before he falls asleep. Once the adrenaline from the fight leaves him, he realises just how exhausted he is and falls asleep before he gets through a single episode of Modern Family (he’s been away for a long time and has a lot to catch up on).  


In his dreams, he’s usually flying somewhere wth Steve. But this time, he falls, and he’s alone. It feels strangely prophetic.  


And then he wakes to the early morning sun cascading in through the windows and Natasha standing over him with a steaming mug of coffee, and he doesn’t remember his dream anymore. He never does, not since… not since he was captured and brainwashed and taken apart and put back together like a broken lego set.

“Hrmph,” he mumbles intellectually, shielding his eyes from the light. “What time’s it?”  


“Early. We’ve got a mission. Go get dressed.”

“ _Tasha_ ,” he whines, “can’t we postpone it for a few hours so I can sleep some more?” 

But even as he’s asking, he’s sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eye with a fist, because he knows there’s no way anything would be held off. A mission is a mission. So Bucky walks back to their room slowly, cursing himself for not taking up Tony’s offer on his own apartment. Dreading the moment he’ll see Steve, because now that the anger’s passed, Bucky realises how out of line he was with what he said. He has every intention to apologise when he sees Steve, but the minute he’s in the apartment, Steve looks up from his half-eaten bowl of cereal and, with a stony glare, says “I’m going to have a shower” and walks stiffly to the bathroom.

Bucky sighs and sits on the chair by the door to pull his shoes on, wondering how everything in his life has led to this moment. Where had he gone wrong? At what point had he fucked up enough to make his best friend hate him? He knows, he really does, that he should say sorry to Steve, but he’s still a little pissed and getting an apology out of Bucky is like pulling teeth. He resolves to be as cold to Steve as Steve was to him earlier, because he’s petty like that. He runs his calloused hands over his face, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He never gets enough sleep, he realises. Maybe that’s why his temper is so short. 

Steve leaves the en suite followed by a cloud of steam, already in his stealth suit and ready to go. America’s golden boy is honest-to-god glowing in the early morning light, looking like a paragon of virtue if ever there was one. But Bucky is willing to bet that if anyone looked at their favourite hero’s face right now, they’d cower in terror or realise that he’s actually an asshole or… or both. He towers over Bucky, hands on his hips. Trying to be intimidating? Maybe? But it just annoys Bucky further. 

Bucky stands up and crosses his arms. “I’m going to find Clint,” he says, and leaves. It’s far too early to deal with Steve’s moody ass right now. He closes the door behind him, probably a little louder than he needs to, but that’s not important. 

Nat corners him in the corridor. “You alright Barnes?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure? You look a little… murderous.”

“Just getting in the mood for the mission,” he jokes, forcing a tight smile.

“Whatever you say. We’re meeting in the armoury before we go, so hurry your ass down there,” she says. And then she’s gone, just like that. Because she’s Natasha Romanoff and she’s fast and stealthy. _And a trained assassin_ , Bucky reminds himself.

Bucky takes the elevator to the basement ( _how clichéd_ , he thinks), where they keep their suits and weapons and cars and anything else they might need in a fight. And also anything they’ll need in the event of a lockdown so. A plentiful stash of alcohol and long-life food like cereal and frozen pizza. The Avengers like to take nutrition very seriously (Steve actually _does_ though. Those protein shakes he’s always trying to get Bucky to drink? _So_ gross). Bucky spaces out while Tony is explaining the mission. It doesn’t sound huge, or particularly difficult, so Bucky doesn’t bother paying attention to the minor details. He’ll figure it out when he’s there. Bucky doesn’t really trust himself with weapons all the much anyway, so he prefers to stay on the outskirts of battles and only get really involved if he sees that the others are struggling. Otherwise, he’s mostly there to protect civilians, because otherwise it’s inevitable that someone will get hurt. 

++

The fight is short and bloody, to the point where even Bucky has to get involved in the action. There’s a point where it seems that these… _things_ they’re fighting seem to be infinite. No matter how many they kill, more follow. It’s a HYDRA attack, no doubt. _Cut off one head, two more shall take its place_ they’d promised, and so far, they really aren’t failing to live up to it. No matter where Bucky looks, the —aliens? robots? whatever they are, they’re everywhere and Bucky is starting to panic a bit. This is worse than the war, when they were being bombed. Because then, the only threat had been from above. But these are coming from _everywhere_ \- above, behind, all around, even from the sewers, it seems. And it’s terrifying. Almost like a video game. Bucky and Steve and the rest keep on shooting, keeping bringing the monsters down, but new ones just keep appearing. They’re struggling to keep up, and soon they’re almost ankle-deep in, what Bucky now realises, are shattered parts of metal. He relays this information onto Tony, because a brilliant engineer like him is sure to come up with something to bring down more than one robot thing at a time.

Bucky is shooting all over the place, and he’s given up on defeating these things and is instead just trying to defend himself from whatever it is that’ll happen if they actually get to him. And he can see Clint shooting burning arrows and Nat shooting from two guns at once and Bruce is… Bruce is not there. Right, because his vacation to Thailand could not have been timed better. Bucky wonders if Clint even had time to tell Bruce what was going on before they’d all run straight into the most exhausting fight they’ve ever engaged in. Realistically, the only way Bruce can possibly know what’s happening is if he’s watching the news _right now_ , which is unlikely because it’s like, 2am there. Although, knowing Bruce…

And then it happens. Above the raucous of the violence, of the bang of guns and clang of metal on metal and boom of explosions, above all the screams and sirens, the sound of smashing glass is suddenly the only thing Bucky can hear. He turns to the direction of the noise and… oh.

The glass is showering down from what is probably the fortieth floor of a skyscraper, and Steve is following it, clutching his shield to his chest as though it’s a life-jacket and he’s drowning. The shriek of horror gets caught in Bucky’s throat because he realises there’s _no way_ even Steve will possibly survive a fall like that. Not even with the magic serum coursing through his veins. There’s no way he’ll ever plummet from that height and live and walk and talk again. He watches as if in slow motion as Steve approaches his imminent end and, _oh god, this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen_ , Bucky thinks, _no no no no nononononono_. 

They were supposed to grow old together, till the end of the line, and jesus this can’t be the end because there is _so much_ that Bucky needs to tell Steve and now it is never going to happen and they’re both going to die and Bucky will never tell Steve how much he _loves_ him. _It must’ve been an accident_ , Bucky thinks, _because Steve had so much to live for_.

Steve is going to die the way he’s always wanted - a paradigm of bravery, a hero who’d perished protecting his people. But Bucky doesn’t want him to die. Bucky doesn’t want his Stevie to die because he’s selfish and horrible and it’s for the greater good or whatever the _fuck_ , but Steve is Bucky’s best friend, has always been his best friend, and he’s going to die and Bucky is never going to have the chance to apologise for what he said. Because Steve is the only thing in Bucky’s life that’s stayed constant and familiar and comfortable over the years of utter shit they’ve both endured and now, _far too soon_ , it’s all going to end and then what will Bucky even have left to live for? He doesn’t love anyone like he loves Steve.

Bucky’s heart beats so fast in his chest that if he was breathing right now, he’d be breathless. He’s so consumed in his anguish that he doesn’t realise that there’s a harsh buzz behind him until it’s too close and knocking him to the ground roughly and he doesn’t see where Steve lands because suddenly he’s knocked his face on the road and his nose is bleeding and he’s seeing stars and he licks the blood from his lips and for some reason the taste is alarmingly familiar, like this has happened before. And then a boot stomps on his right wrist and snaps it with a sickening crunch and kicks him roughly in the gut and Bucky can taste blood at the back of his throat . And something cold and metal grips his ankles in a vice-like grip and starts dragging him along the road and the rough asphalt scrapes at his face and then he’s released and pummelled in the back and the stomach and legs and his broken wrist and he just lies there and _cries_ because what else is there to do? And this feels new. This feeling of loss and hopelessness because even when he’s been brainwashed and the Winter Soldier and not himself, there’d always been a purpose, always been backup, and always, somewhere in the back of his mind, there was Steve to fight for, even if he didn’t realise it. 

He’d dropped his gun when he’d fallen and he can’t reach the knife strapped to his thigh because he’s hurt and he’s broken and he doesn’t want to exist in this strange and foreign and lonely world without Steve, who’s _gone_. Then there’s a sharp kick to his face and Bucky thinks he might be spitting out a broken tooth and then another kick to the side of his head and the last thing he thinks before he blacks out is _Steve_.

++

On the first day Bucky had got his own mind back and spent the night in Steve’s bed, he’d dreamt that he and Steve had settled into a normal, domestic routine and that things were back to the way they used to be before the war. The shitty apartment they’d shared, Bucky working at the docks, Steve working behind the counter of a greengrocer’s. Then, Steve lying in bed coughing up a lung and Bucky nursing him back to health, slowly, throughout the entire winter. Bucky giving Steve his only extra sweater so that he wouldn’t freeze to death at night. Except, in his dream, they’d lived in a proper apartment and it was the 21st century, and Steve wasn’t hacking up blood every night.

In his dream, they’d sat down for a dinner of pasta and meatballs and talked about their day like proper, civil adults, and then Bucky had just gone and told Steve that he was in love with him. Had been, in fact, for almost an entire _century_ , for fuck’s sake. And Steve had… Steve had got up and left, obviously, because Steve was straight and not interested in Bucky and probably thought that Bucky had been perving on him and, what the fuck, they even shared a _bed_. 

Bucky doesn’t remember this dream, he never remembers his dreams, but maybe this is why the idea of telling Steve how he feels is so paralysingly terrifying. Because Steve might _leave_. 

Except now this will never be a problem.

Because Steve is already gone.

++

When Bucky opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is white, everywhere, all around him, and he thinks maybe he’s died and this is heaven. This is what it’s supposed to look like, right? Then Natasha’s face pops up over his and he realises it’s just a hospital. He feels a bit out of it, a bit woozy, doesn’t remember much.

His wrist aches, he realises, and lifts it to look at it. It’s wrapped in a white bandage, all sterile looking. There’s a needle inserted into the back of his hand, which is attached to a drip. Painkillers? No, probably just keeping him hydrated. 

“What happened to my wrist?” he asks Nat, trying to sit up and wincing at the pain in his side. He feels sore all over, but not… not broken.

“Fractured, we think, but you were all healed by the time we got you to the hospital. Anything else hurt?”

“I kind of feel like a bruise on legs but, you know, I’ll live.”

He stands and stretches, groaning as his back cracks.

“You should really see a—” 

“A physio, I know. Steve won’t shut up about it. Steve. Where is Steve?”

“Bucky,” Natasha starts. Pauses. “Bucky, he’s. He’s.”

But she doesn’t need to continue because the smashing glass and the crash and Steve _falling_ suddenly comes back to Bucky like a punch in the gut and he opens his mouth, as if to say something, then changes his mind and bends over to vomit into the bin by his bed.

“Oh Bucky, jesus. Lie down. Darling, are you okay? Are you running a fever?” Nat sounds so much like Sarah Rogers 

“I’m. I. Steve. Oh my god Nat, he’s dead and it’s my fault because I didn’t save him oh god I couldn’t save him I just stood and watched and I couldn’t… I couldn’t. Natasha, _Natasha_ , oh my god what do I do I can’t breathe Nat help me help Steve where is he where’s his body I _need_ —” he’s crying so hard he can’t breathe, bordering on hysteria, worse than any panic attack he’s ever had because then the feeling of impending doom wore off but this time the doom is right _here_ and so real and raw and unavoidable and Bucky cannot fucking move.

“Bucky, please stop. Breathe. Listen to me.”

“I have to find him!” he cries, lurching forward so quickly that Nat has to step out of the way, and before she has a chance to stop him, he’s running down the corridor and through the emergency exit, because there’s no way he’s waiting for an elevator right now. He steps out into the sunshine (how _dare_ the sun shine on a day like this?) and looks around, disorientated. Where was he when he saw Steve —

(He can’t think the word.)

When he saw Steve _fall_ (he has to swallow an apple-sized lump in his throat before he can breathe again).

He was facing south, he knows that much, and the building was tall and. Glass? Was it all glass? Bucky’s vision zeroes in on a skyscraper and he knows it’s the one because of the gaping hole on the side of the building facing him. Without hesitation he starts running towards it, swerving burning cars (he _hopes_ there aren’t any people in those) and fallen street signs and all the damage they’d left behind. This happens every time, this mess. He runs for what seems like a lifetime, but the building doesn’t seem to get any closer. And then abruptly, it’s right in front of him and he has to stop for a second and take in the scene.

There’s shattered glass _everywhere_ , in every crevice of the street, glittering like a million shiny diamonds under the glaring sun. The area is sectioned off with police tape and, jesus, Bucky hopes that sand was to put out a fire and not to cover bloodstains. And Steve? Where is he? Where’s his… his body? 

Bucky starts for the entrance, because maybe they moved it inside to conceal it from the public. No one tries to stop him when he ducks under the police tape, when he crunches his way across the shards of glass, when he shoves the door open and steps inside the spacious lobby, which is completely empty. 

“Hello?” he calls, and his voice, surprisingly steady, echoes around the foyer eerily. The juxtaposition of the chaos outside and the stillness, the deceptive calmness of where he is now disconcerts him. It’s weird. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t feel like he’s alone.

And yet, at the same time…

He moves deeper into the building, hoping he can find someone who will explain everything to him, but there’s no one here at all. He catches sight of his reflection in a glass door and boy does he look like an absolute fucking mess with tangled hair and dried blood on his face and ripped pants and a wild, almost animalistic look in his eyes. Fuckin’ feral. And he doesn’t feel much better. 

The thought of Steve being dead is just, it doesn’t seem real, because he’s Steve. He can’t just die, that’s not how it works. He’s probably still alive and just out looking for puppies in the wreckage or something, because that’s what Steve does. 

Steve was weak and skinny and weak, but he survived winter after cold winter (he was the _real_ winter soldier). This same Steve survived bootcamp and then the serum. And then Steve was big and strong and he’d survived the war. He’d been shot at and bombed and faced assassination attempts at every corner but he’d lived. Steve had crashed a plane into the fucking ice and he’d survived that too, because Steve Rogers does not die. He keeps fighting and… and for him to die like this, for Steve to risk his death being seen as an act of giving up rather than one of bravery isn’t something that would ever happen, not as far as Bucky is concerned. 

And god, now of all times. Bucky was going to tell him. He was going to tell him when they got home after this, how he felt about him. That he has wanted Steve for almost a century. He doesn’t believe, never has, that Steve will feel the same about him but he can’t keep it to himself anymore because it’s eating him alive. Now though… now he’ll never be able to tell him. Never have even the slimmest of chances to kiss Steve and hold Steve and build a new life together, maybe adopt a kid, buy a nice house. None of that will ever happen now, because he’s fucking dead and, fuck, Bucky doubles over and wraps his arms around himself as the full brunt of the situation hits him. He’s never going to talk to Steve again. His knees knock painfully against the hard floor as he collapses, crying so hard he can’t see straight, that he can’t get a lungful of air.

This must be how Steve felt when Bucky had fallen from the train, he realises. It’s exactly the same situation, but reversed. Bucky thought he knew tragedy, had surely faced enough of it over his lifetime to recognise it. But he realises now that nothing he’s ever felt could possibly compare to the pain he’s feeling right now. Previously, he’d scoffed at the thought of a broken heart. What could that possibly mean? Love was a brain thing. Chemistry or whatever. He realises now what it means though, because his heart feels like it’s shattering into more pieces than the window that Steve leapt through. Everything is so. 

Awful. The level of awful is cataclysmic. He doesn’t know how he will ever get past this. Recovery, the idea of it, is farcical. People can go into shock from pain, can’t they? Die from it? _Am I going to die of a broken heart_? 

This hurts more than having his arm cut off with a fucking chainsaw, because that pain was temporary and on the surface. This… this is imbedded so deep inside him that he can’t imagine it ever going away.

All he’s ever wanted is Steve, and he was finally so close to having him.

After all he’s done, did he not deserve the one thing he longed for the most?

Why is he never enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'll update once a week!" I say as I don't update for a whole month!! I still love feedback and would really like to know what you guys think :-)
> 
> My stucky trash blog is radiantbarnes.tumblr.com if you're into that kinda thing.
> 
> Muchas gracias for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all are living in a dream,  
> But life ain’t what it seems  
> Oh everything’s a mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for some violence (very minor) and mention of vomiting

Pepper visits first, a day later, bringing Bucky flowers, fresh food and kind words (the flowers wilt on the table where Pepper left them and Bucky doesn't find the food until two weeks later, when it goes off and stinks up his fridge). Bruce and Clint come next, and after that Bucky asks Jarvis to lock his door and not let anyone in. He gets a solid day of silence, a day to lie under the covers and do nothing but shake and cry, before Nat finds a way around the security and gets into his apartment.

"Bucky, darling, I know you're hurting. We all are, but-"

Bucky tunes her out after he heard that, because no, the others aren't hurting the way he is. The others didn't grow up side-by-side with Steve, weren't there to protect him from bullies when he was small and weak and ready to pick a fight. They weren't there to nurse Steve back to health during the harsh winters of the 1940s, when heat and medicine were hard to come by. The others didn't share a bed with Steve every night to keep nightmares at bay, and while the others were losing Steve for the first time, Bucky was reliving the worst days of his life over and over again. 

And none of them loved Steve the way Bucky did. So no, selfishly, Bucky didn't want to hear about how the others were feeling. He needed time to grieve and to put himself back together before he could face talking to anyone. 

"You need to understand that-"

"Nat, please. Listen to me. Steve," his voice breaks as he holds back a sob, "Steve was everything to me. He was all I knew in this world. He was my best friend and I need time before I can talk to anyone. Please understand."

"Oh, Bucky," Natasha says, sliding down onto the bed and holding Bucky close, letting him cry into her shoulder until he's tired out. 

Bucky hangs onto her tightly, comforted by her warmth and presence.

"I can't sleep," he chokes out. “Sleeping with Steve beside me helped with the nightmares, but now he's gone and I can't sleep."

Nat waits a heartbeat before replying. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

Bucky tenses, then turns away from Nat, burying his face in the pillow. 

"Leave."

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Please Nat. Leave."

His words sound angry, but his tone is not. Natasha guesses that this isn't something he wants to talk about right now, and mentally scolds herself for even bringing it up. At a time like this? Honestly. 

“They got started on the cleanup today. I'll tell you if anything important comes up and please, Bucky, eat something. I'll be back tomorrow morning. Good night, мой дорогой," she says, and lets herself out. On her way to the common room, she orders Jarvis to keep Bucky's door unlocked to all the Avengers (she knows better than to leave someone who's hurting as much as Bucky alone in a locked room). 

That night, Bucky dreams of being trapped and there's blood and pain and he thinks he might be torturing someone, his metal forefinger drilling a hole into a person's skull. And they scream and scream and scream, and for the first time in over a year, Bucky wakes up alone, crying, panicking, and Nat won't answer the goddamn phone so he just has to wait it out alone (it's almost three hours before his heart rate is back to normal). 

“My name is Bucky Barnes,” he reminds himself out loud. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes, the year is 2015, I am in New York.”

It grounds him. Stops Bucky from disassociating.

“I am in love with Steve Rogers,” he adds, and his heart beat steadies the slightest bit. Nothing brings him back to himself more than this one thought. Because throughout all the pain, all the torture and brainwashing he went through, this was always the one thing he could come back to. 

By the time the sun rises and bathes the kitchen in soft morning light, Bucky is onto his second coffee. Third, by the time Nat knocks on his door and lets herself in without waiting for a response. 

“Hey Buck,” she says gently.

“I hate that the sun rises,” he says without looking up from his mug.

“What?”

“I mean. Steve is gone and I’m… It’s just weird that, you know, the sun still rises and people keep living their lives. It doesn’t feel right. Kinda feels like everything just needs to stop.”

Natasha looks like she doesn’t really know what to say, so Bucky backtracks to avoid awkwardness. 

“I mean, like-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself Bucky. Everyone deals with loss in a different way.”

Bucky’s hands shake so violently that his coffee slops over the edge of the mug and splashes onto his bare feet and the floor. He stares blankly at the puddle, then up at Nat.

“Maybe you should talk to someone. You know, like a professional. It’s hard dealing with this stuff by yourself Buck.”

“Don’t call me Buck,” he says through gritted teeth, his eyes stinging. Only Steve ever calls— called him Buck. 

Try as he might, Bucky can’t wrap his mind around the thought that Steve’s gone. He refuses to believe it. Because Steve is… Well, Steve. And a fall wouldn’t kill Steve. Bucky’s seen him jump from much higher. Hell, he’s jumped out of planes without a goddamn parachute. He’s not dead.

“Maybe you need some sleep,” Natasha suggests, and Bucky realises he must’ve voiced some version of his thoughts out loud.

“I’m fine.”

“You look exhausted. We can get you some pills-”

“Fuck sleep Natasha. Fuck sleep and your fucking pills and your fucking psychiatrist. I’m not four years old for christ’s sake. I’m an adult and it’s high time you started treating me like one. I’m not the fragile child everyone seems to think I am. I’m messed up and I know that. But it doesn’t mean I can’t look after myself. I just lost my best friend, okay? Goddamnit, the man I’ve been in love with since we were teenagers. Give me some fucking space.”

He’s been pretty decent at holding back his tears up until this point, but as soon as the confession passes his lips, he starts crying.

“Dammit Nat, I’m in love with him. I was going to tell him and now he’s gone.”   
Nat steps forward and hugs him tightly, and for now, it’s the best anyone can do.

++

Tony comes up to his room later in the day. Plops himself down on Bucky’s couch uninvited, casual as you please.

“Want to help with the cleanup?”

“Leave me alone Tony,” Bucky says, more annoyed than anything.

“C’mon, it’ll be some good, productive fun. And some great publicity. Also, I know how much it hurts to lose someone you love, so if you ever want to come by my place for a chat or a drink or both, please feel free.”

“I’m not in love with Steve,” Bucky manages, but he’s grateful for Tony’s invitation. 

“I didn’t say that,” he shrugs, then stands and wraps his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “Now, let’s go Buck-o, we’ve got some cleaning to do.”

It’s not hard to like Tony. Beneath his cocky exterior, he’s basically the model friend. Because he’s dealt with so much of his own shit, he seems to understand how to comfort people without being condescending. And out of all Bucky’s friends, Tony is the only one that doesn’t treat Bucky like a baby, and Bucky’s really really grateful for that. He hates the way the media paints Tony - a heartless drunk, sleeping with women (and men) without ever bothering to give them the time of day. Not caring about anyone or anything. Causing destruction and never cleaning up the mess that’s left in his wake. Bucky hates it because none of it is true (okay, so maybe he does sleep around. But so what?), so what business do they have ruining a good man’s reputation? Tony seems to take it all in his stride, brushes it off as nothing more than an inconvenience, but Bucky knows it’s all for show because there have been at least two times when a casual conversation about this particular topic spiralled into Tony having a panic attack. Bucky really does enjoy Tony’s company. It’s possible that, other than Steve, he’s the one Bucky spends the most time with. 

++

Bucky’s carting around rubble in a wheelbarrow when an urgent shout sounds in his comm. He takes off running right away because, oh my god, did they find Steve? Then he realises that if Steve’s body was to be found, it would’ve happened yesterday, because they always look for those who survived (and those who didn’t) before they start the cleanup. 

He presses his finger to his ear and speaks. “What is it? Do you need my help?”

“You might wanna come see this Barnes,” Clint replies.

Bucky’s heart jolts hopefully. Why would they be calling for him specifically if not for something to do with Steve? It’s stupid to hope, but it’s all he can do. 

“I’ll be right there.”

Bucky approaches the building Steve fell from with caution. The glass that littered the street only days prior was gone. In fact, other than the massive gaping hole in the side of the building, you couldn’t tell anything at all had happened just by looking around.

“We’re inside,” Clint says in his ear. “Third floor, first door on your left.”

Bucky takes the emergency stairs two at a time because the lifts aren’t working, but for all his eagerness, hesitates outside the door. He’s not sure what he’s going to find in there, equal parts hopeful and scared shitless. But before he’s given much chance to decide whether he should go inside or run away, Clint makes that decision for him by swinging the door open and almost giving Bucky a heart attack.

“Jesus fuck Clint,” Bucky swears, clutching at his chest in shock.

“Concise, I like it. You coming or what?” Clint asks, grabbing Bucky’s arm and pulling him inside before he has a chance to respond.

They walk down a narrow corridor, pitch black if not for the flashlight in Clint’s hand.

“‘Kay so we found these two guys in this office. Not sure who they’re with or what they’re actually doing, but we mentioned Hydra and one of the guys got this real shifty look. Not sure if it’s because he’s heard of them or is actually with them, but it feels like a lead. Oh, and also, the other guy claims that Steve is alive. Then he got the fuck out and we can’t track him down. Here he is now,” Clint says, and before Bucky has a chance to process what he’s just been told, Clint thrusts him through another door and Bucky comes face to face with the one person he thought he’d never see again.

“Rumlow?”

“Bucky?” 

They’re both equally shocked. Equally confused. How… and what? They stare at each other for a full minute before Tony speaks up.

“If we’re done with this very touching family reunion, would somebody care to explain what’s going on?”

Without taking his eyes off Rumlow, Bucky replies “we served together in the military. Before the Howlies. We were… Rumlow was Captain.”

There’s no need to mention that other than Steve, at the time, Rumlow was the only person that knew Bucky was gay. And this was only because they got handsy in the showers a few times. Before Brock was-

“You? You were declared-”

“Killed in action? I know.”

“But how?” Bucky explodes. “That was almost seventy years ago!”   
“Same as you, I’m guessing. Hydra. The serum? Did they try to wipe your memory too?”

It’s as though a switch goes off in Bucky’s mind, synapses firing frantically as images flash through his mind. The red room, training, going on missions. All with Brock.

“It was you,” he gasps. “You. When we were dismantling Paperclip. And then in the sixties, when they sent us to Thailand. Oh my god, Brock. Do you remember the nineties? We lived together for months on that mission.”

But the whole time, Brock is shaking his head sadly. “They did a solid job wiping me, Buck. I hardly remember anything. Some of the war, my ma, my little sister. Everything after that is in pieces.”

“But you must remember something!”

“You of all people should understand. It’s not that easy.”

“Can somebody please explain why a Hydra spy is here and all buddy-buddy with Barnes?” Natasha sighs, her patience clearly wearing thin.

“I don’t want anything to do with Hydra. I was actually kind of hoping to get the ever-loving fuck away from them.”

“So you decided to hide in a dentist’s office in a destroyed building? Seems logical,” Nat says to no one in particular.

“Well, not exactly. I mean, I saw what happened to the Captain. It was. It was awful, but I figured you people might come here to look for answers and. Well. I have answers. Also I was sort of hoping you could take me with you so that I never have to see those filthy Hydra fucks again. I can help with the retrieval. I know my way around the headquarters.”   
“Wait. Steve is at Hydra headquarters?” this is all that matters to Bucky.

“Sounds like it. But you’re not coming Buckster. We only just got you back from them.” Tony tells him.

“You’re shitting me right?” Bucky says stonily.

“No, I’m not. You’re not going anywhere near those headquarters if I can help it.”

“And we only just got you back,” Natasha adds gently, repeating Tony’s words. 

“You’re a fugitive Bucky. You can’t go near there.”

“Look, I don’t know what part of this situation doesn’t make sense to you, but Steve is my best friend and frankly, for a mission like this? You’re gonna need all hands on deck. You can’t even begin to imagine what Hydra is capable of until you experience it firsthand. Right Brock?”

Rumlow nods solemnly.  

“We’re not taking you, and that’s final. Besides, we need someone to stay back at the tower for mission control. C’mon Buck, you should understand,” Tony tells him.

Bucky’s horrified that they could even consider not taking him. Of all the missions he’s ever been on (or missed out), this is the most important one. Taking this mission when he fully understands the risks isn’t an act of stupid, heroic bravery. It’s not his stubborn side putting on a show. It’s not because he’s upset about missing out on the action.

“He’s the love of my life. Do you not understand how important this is to me?”

Bucky realises what he’s said too late, but when he looks around, there’s a surprising lack of shock on everyone’s face. Well. Except Clint.

“Wait. Wait, you’re gay?”

A chorus of Clint and oh my god sounds, and then Tony turns to Bucky.

“If you love him so much, then think about what he would want. Do you honestly think that Steve Rogers would want you on this mission?”

“That’s emotional blackmail Tony, and you know it. I’m going on this god forsaken mission whether you like it or not.”

“If anyone cares,” Brock speaks up, “I’m with Bucky on this. And also, you might want to hurry up with this because Hydra is. Um. Efficient.”

++

For maybe the eighth time ever, Bucky is in full gear. A knife strapped to his thigh, a gun on each hip. He’s got a capsule in a hidden compartment on his right shoulder - a place he’ll be able to reach even if he’s tied up - the pill similar to the one Fury used to fake his death. All the Avengers have one, but only as a last resort.

Rumlow is there too, decked out in a kit very similar to Bucky’s. Standing side by side in matching uniform, Bucky suddenly gets the odd sense of being back in the army again, under Brock’s command.

He remembers the short grace period he had before finding out that Steve was on the front lines too. Bucky remembers hearing about Captain America from the guys who had siblings who were adoring fans back home. Never even occurred to him that it could be Steve. In his mind, his best friend was back home in their dingy apartment, struggling to feed himself, but alive all the same (Bucky’s pay went to their home in Brooklyn, and he wondered why none of the money was ever spent. Steve’s undying pride, he suspected). 

They’re dropped on the side of the freeway a few miles out from the base and sneak through the dense forest until they reach the tall, chainlink fence. 

“It’s on the map as a research centre,” Rumlow explains, “that’s why they were allowed to put a fence up. The above-ground floors are actually used for research, so when some inspector guys come around and look, they have something to show. The guts of the facility is subterranean though, so getting in is a bit of a pain.”

“So what do you propose?” Natasha asks.

“Actually,” Tony interjects, “I was thinking I could hack into their comms control and tell everyone to-”

“We could do something a little more simple,” Rumlow interrupts, ignoring Tony’s look of disdain. 

The three others look up at him in interest.

“We could pull the fire alarm. We’ve done fire drills. They get everyone out except the test subjects - who are in airtight cells and don’t need to be evacuated - and the security guards. Now, I know that the situation isn’t ideal but it’s as close as we’ll get to an empty facility and it’s a lot easier to deal with guards than it is to deal with a building full of people who’ll get in the way.”

Natasha’s nodding and Clint looks a bit unsure, but it’s Tony who sees the flaw in the plan.

“And how do you propose we set off the alarm? Because I don’t think that’s something I can hack, even with my advanced technological abilities. It’s just not something hackable. So it’s a good idea in theory, but-”

“If you’ll let me finish, Mr. Stark,” Rumlow says respectfully, but Bucky can see a twinge of annoyance in his face. “As far as Hydra is concerned, I’m still a part of the organisation. I can walk in there and no one will bat an eyelid. I pull the alarm, you guys wait until everyone is out, then you get in using the back entrance. Do you remember the facility?” he aims the question as Bucky, who nods uneasily. “Good, so you’ll know where to go from there. There are guards at the back entrance, but again. Easier to deal with a few armed guards than a throng of people who will definitely recognise all of you. I think we should wait until it gets a little darker, because then you can come through the gate with me and sneak around the back. I’d say cut through the fence, but last time I checked it was electrified and that’s a bit of a pain to deal with.”

Natasha nods. “We should start walking then. We’ll be there by nightfall.”

++

“That’s the alarm,” Clint hisses, “go!”

They step around the unconscious guards they’ve already taken care of and push the heavy door open, Bucky first, followed by Nat, Tony and Clint. 

Then Bucky freezes, and Nat crashes into him.

“What the hell Barnes?”

The memories of this place hit Bucky with the force of a moving train.

“Nothing. Keep going,” he waves them on, and they start running down the hallway.

Dragged down this corridor by two guards in white.

They keep passing doors on either side of them, most of which are open, showing empty rooms beyond. They come to the end of the corridor, unsure of whether to turn left or right.

A pause.

“So… Bucky?” Tony asks.

Bucky all but shrugs. “I remember the facility, sure, but how am I supposed to know where Steve is?”

“Should we split?” Clint suggests, “it all seems pretty quiet. Whoever finds Steve, comm the others and then get the hell out of here.”

“I’ll go with Barnes,” Natasha says, then takes his arm and pulls him left.

They make their way down the hall slowly, finding empty room after empty room. The guards that Brock had promised are nowhere to be found.

Because the rooms are completely bare. It’s not at all what Bucky remembers, and he can’t help but feel that they’re missing a vital part of information. They keep walking down until they reach the elevators, and then it seems to hit Bucky and Nat at the same time. 

“Brock said-”

“Subterranean. Oh my god,” Nat says, then presses her finger to her ear. “Guys, we need to go down, remember? We’re just wasting time.”

Clint’s voice sounds in Bucky’s ear. “Already there Tash, hurry up- fuck!” 

“Clint? Hello? Tony!” Bucky says frantically. “C’mon Nat, we gotta go help ‘em.”

They rush to the emergency stairwell and fly down a flight of stairs, all the while Natasha speaking frantically into the comm.

“Hawkeye, where are you, do you need help, what’s going on, Tony, Clint, jesus fuck,” she moves her hand away from her ear. “Can you contact control?” she asks Bucky, and he nods.

“Pete? Peter? You there?” he asks, speaking into the mic attached to his suit.

A muffled “yes” comes in response.

“Great, can you find Clint and Tony please? And hurry.”

He’s met with silence as Peter searches for them, and Bucky’s blood flows colder with every passing second. At the exit from the stairs, they’re met with an armed guard, but before he even has a moment to blink, Natasha pulls a gun from her holster and points it at him.

“Quiet, understand?” she says sternly, then spots his hand inching to his ear, obviously to comm for help. 

“Nope, don’t you dare,” Bucky says, and shoots with him a dart that knocks him out cold instantly, and for a couple hours at least. 

Nat and Bucky step over his body and find themselves in a large room with several doors leading off into other rooms. Bucky looks over at her and shrugs, then walks over to the first door and tries the handle. Locked. obviously. 

“Do we… blow it up?” Bucky asks, unsure.

“No,” Nat says, pulling out a card. “Let me try this first.”

But the moment she presses it to the scanner, Bucky realises they’ve made a mistake. 

“Nat. Nat, we should go. Come on,” he’s grabbing at her arm, trying to pull her away from the door, but it’s too late. 

Before they have a chance to step back, the door bursts open and they’re overwhelmed with eight? nine? guards with guns and bulletproof gear. Immediately, Bucky feels a rush of adrenalin and his heart pounds in his throat. This must’ve been what happened to Tony and Clint. But there’s no time to think about this now, because if they think, they die.

Nat dies, Bucky thinks frantically, they just take me back. 

And this is what spurs him on to fight his hardest, and by the time Nat’s knocked out three, Bucky’s taken care of the rest. But to his disappointment, the room is empty but for a few blank computer screens. The bareness of the facility is disconcerting. Bucky remembers it being chaotic and busy when he was here.

“Ok, so,” Nat’s breathing heavily, “I guess that’s what happens when you use the wrong key card.”

“You guys good?” Tony’s voice sounds in their ears, and simultaneously Nat and Bucky breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Yeah, where are you? Found anything?” Bucky asks, waving Nat on to follow him. 

“Not yet, but keep looking. Give me a second before you try any more doors though, I’m trying to disable the security system. Then you can surprise the guards instead of the other way around. I’ll give you the go-ahead.” 

Nat looks up at Bucky. “Have I ever told you that I love Tony?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Bucky takes the moment of rest Tony’s granted them to assess his surroundings properly. The room they’re in is a sterile white, not unlike a hospital room. No windows though, low ceiling, no furniture. There’s no way out except for the stairs, which makes Bucky uncomfortable, because it’s awfully easy to block an exit. 

“Should we order pizza in for dinner?” Nat asks, leaving Bucky to marvel at her ability to be so chill any time, anywhere. 

“Yeah, and order extra for Brock. We can’t exactly leave him here after he helped us so-”

Bucky whirls around in shock as the door to the stairwell crashes open. He’s immediately in a fighting stance, only to relax ever so slightly when he realises it’s just Tony and Clint. 

“We did it,” Clint sounds breathless.

“I did it,” Tony corrects, just as puffed out as Clint, “disabled the alarm system. Let’s go save some all-American ass.”

Clint pumps his fist triumphantly, then goes over to the second door.

“Everyone ready?” 

Without waiting for an answer, he scans the keycard and the lock clicks open. He pushes the door and without giving the guards even a second to react, the Steve Rescue Squad are on them like a pack of wild dogs. 

And they repeat this process over and over, agitation growing as they find nothing. 

“How many levels is this place? Do we have to do this to every single room?” Tony huffs.

“No,” Bucky says. “He’s here.”

He’s not sure how he knows this, but somewhere in the depths of his mind, a memory lingers that this is the place. Luckily, no one questions him, and they move on to the second-last door. 

Again, they go through the process of unlocking the door and taking out all the guards, but this time it’s different. Because Bucky recognises this room. As the door slams shut behind them, he recognises the bank vault look it has, the walls lined with tens upon hundreds of draws, filled with god knows what. He recognises the chair too, and the machinery surrounding it, because this was the chair he was strapped to day after day, his mind reset and his personality wiped and his body made into nothing more than a weapon of mass destruction.

But the sight of the chair is more harrowing than it’s ever been before, because this time there’s another person tied to it, held down by thick leather bands across his thighs and chest and neck, wrists held in metal cuffs. And this person is Steve, and his eyes are closed and for a moment Bucky thinks he might be dead.

He rushes over to him, cutting through the straps with his knife and using his own strength to force the cuffs open. Then he’s clutching Steve’s face in his hands, shaking his head, chanting Steve Steve Steve over and over again, voice becoming increasingly desperate. Then Steve’s eyes snap open, a startling blue, and flit around without focusing on anything, and the three seconds before he speaks feel like hours for Bucky, because he thinks that maybe they’ve turned Steve into a blank slate and he’s going to kill him the same way Bucky killed the first person he saw when he woke. 

A hand around the neck, a quick twist, a man collapsing dead before anyone has an opportunity to intervene.

“Bucky?” he rasps, his voice hoarse as though he’d spent hours screaming (he probably has, Bucky realises).

And Bucky collapses in a heap on top of Steve, holding him close and trying very very hard to suppress tears of relief, of happiness, because he has his Stevie back, and he’s never ever letting him out of his sight again. Steve’s protectiveness they’d fought over merely days ago? Bucky gets it now. There’s nothing like thinking that your best friend’s dead to spark a need to keep them out of danger for the rest of their damn life.

Steve hugs him back and whispers thanks into his ear, his hand big and warm at the back of Bucky’s neck, and for the first time in days, Bucky feels comfort.

“Um, guys,” Tony says carefully, “not to interrupt this beautiful moment but Pete says there’s backup coming and we should get the fuck out.”

Bucky nods frantically, standing and wiping at his face and offering Steve a hand up. Steve takes it and Bucky feels like everything is right in the world again.

“Can you walk?” Bucky asks, offering Steve his arm in case he can’t. 

Steve nods but wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulder and leans on him anyway.

“You good to go Cap?” Tony asks, and at Steve’s assent, he adds “ok team, time to get out of here. Parker’s sending a helicopter for us.”

Together, they move to the door, everyone’s mood heightened by a newly acquired sense of accomplishment. But everyone freezes in place as the door swings open of its own accord before they have a chance to reach it.

To Bucky’s immense relief, Brock steps in. But his solace is short-lived when he realises that the look Brock is wearing is nothing less than terror. A moment later, Bucky realises why. Because it’s him. The man who wore the expensive suit and the stomach-churning smirk. The man Bucky had sworn to kill if he ever laid eyes on him again.

“Well, Mr Barnes, isn’t it kind of you to stop by,” Alexander Pierce says, the devil’s smile playing on his lips. 

“Bucky, please, get out of here,” Brock says desperately, and his comment is met with a fist to the side of his jaw from Pierce.

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” Bucky says lurching forward, only to be dragged back by Tony.

“This man,” Pierce continues, indicating at Rumlow, “is a traitor.”

“Like hell is is!”

“Bucky! Be quiet,” Natasha snaps, and Bucky can almost see the cogs whirring in her brain as she tries to think of a way out of this.

“Is that an Armani?" Tony asks, clearly buying for time, “you’re a man of acquired taste I see.”

It’s a stupid comment, but every second that Pierce is distracted is a second that no one’s getting killed, so Bucky is hardly going to complain. 

“Rogers is my business now, not yours. You have no business taking him. We’ve done so much research and oh, we’re so very excited to finally try it out,” Pierce tells them, and Bucky feels like he might be sick. “We pulled it off very well, I must say, getting him here. Faking his death was a bit tricky you know. It’s hard to drive a whole array of witnesses into believing that the real Steve Rogers actually fell from the fortieth floor of a building. But we did so fairly well, wouldn’t you agree, Mr Barnes?”

Bucky’s clenching his jaw so hard he could chip a tooth, and it takes Steve digging his nails into Bucky's hand for him to not say anything in response. 

“Please,” Brock starts, but his plea is cut short as Pierce grabs his around the neck with a surprising amount of strength and presses a gun that came out of nowhere to his temple.

Brock pales considerably, and Bucky is so tightly wound that even from where he’s standing he can see a single drop of sweat make its way down his neck. 

“If you hurt so much as a hair on his head,” Bucky starts, but his threat falls flat as Pierce looks him right in the eye and he suddenly remembers very vividly the pain he felt when they were wiping his mind.

“Please, Mr Pierce,” Clint starts. They all know there’s no point in negotiating, but no one’s going to give in without trying.

“This man is a traitor,” Pierce repeats slowly, as though a teacher talking to young pupils, “and do you know what we do to traitors?”

Bucky can do nothing but look on in horror as Pierce’s finger tightens on the trigger-

Can do nothing as the gun goes off-

Nothing as Brock crumples to the floor as if in slow motion, eyes lifeless before he even hits the ground-

Nothing to stop the cry of “no!” escaping him as he launches himself onto Pierce and grabs his neck and breaks it in one sharp twist, the crack of bone seeming to echo around the room infinitely. The moment Pierce falls, Bucky realises what he’s done, twists around and vomits onto the floor, because he’s a murderer and he’d sworn to himself that he’d never kill another person as long as he lives. 

“Bucky,” Steve rushes forward to hold him, but Bucky steps out of reach.

“Don’t, I’m. I’m. Stop. I’m disgusting.”  

He doesn’t remember much of what happened after that. Vaguely, he can recall a tight grip on both his arms, someone half-carrying him up the stairs to the helicopter. If they encountered anyone else on their way, it doesn’t stick with him.

But he wakes up in his own bed some time later in Steve’s arms. Steve, his best friend, is alive and back and asleep beside him. Bucky lets out a breath of relief and falls back under.

This time, in his dreams, everything Pierce did to him comes back in an avalanche of memories and even though he wakes in cold sweat, the weight on his heart is a little lighter. 

++

A week passes, and day by day Bucky feels less and less guilt, and Steve remembers more and more of what happened. But the last of it disappears when Steve is finally able to talk about what happened

The whole team gathers in the common area to listen.

“I don’t remember how I got there. I just remember waking up strapped to this chair, and to be honest, at first I thought everything that’d happened that day was just a weird dream and I was at the dentist. But then I tried to sit up and realised I was strapped down. Before I had a chance to start panicking properly, Pierce walked in. He had this terrifying smile on his face, looked like every villain in every movie ever. 

“He said they were going to turn me into the next Winter Soldier. But a better one; the serum that had been used on me was more advanced than anything they’d ever managed to replicate. I’d be the most powerful super soldier they ever made. So they tried to wipe me, over and over again. I’ve never felt such immense pain in my life. Felt like someone was putting white-hot rods through my ears and stabbing around in my brain. And it went on for ever, never seemed to end. Even when they weren’t touching me, it hurt. 

“Except it wouldn’t work. Erskine had done a very good job on the serum, and try as they might, they couldn’t get past it. Pierce was furious, took it out on those around him. He’s terrifyingly strong. The way he treated the people working there…

“Anyway, he said they were going to leave me there while they continued their research, because there was definitely a way to get past the barriers the serum had put up. I think they were planning to drill through my skull and fiddle around with the parts of my brain responsible for speech and memory. I’m not sure why they’d bother with speech, but I suspect that it’s so I wouldn’t be able to spill any secrets if I was captured and interrogated. 

“That’s the last I’d heard from anyone. I was alone for a day, maybe more, by the time you showed up,” Steve finishes, then takes a bite of his noodles while he waits for someone to respond.

No one does, stunned into silence, and after about thirty seconds, Steve grows visibly uncomfortable.

“Well, in that case. I think I might hit the hay. You coming Buck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. yes. i am obviously not updating once a week. don't know what i was thinking when i said that. school is nuts and as much as i wish i could totally disregard it and just write all day every day, it's kind of a priority.
> 
> also shhh i know brock isn't a nice guy in the movies. i just needed a name. ssshhhhhhhhhhh
> 
> i hope that the longer chapter makes up for my prolonged absence :-)
> 
> my marvel blog is at radiantbarnes.tumblr.com
> 
> any feedback would be greatly appreciated. 
> 
> thank you for reading!!
> 
> p.s i'm still looking for a beta if anyone's interested in that kinda thing


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